


The Lost Epic of Hawke

by PickledGinger



Series: Tales of Kirkwall [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, uh more like between canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledGinger/pseuds/PickledGinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Kirkwall in -37 Dragon, Marian Hawke is left listless and stranded homeless with her two equally homeless companions: Fenris and Merrill. As she comes to terms with killing her friend and lover, Anders, she turns herself onto a new path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Everything was smoke as they left. Smoke that bit the eyes and snapped at the lungs. Embers danced through the air like imps, and the quiet was cold. Of course, it wasn’t really quiet. It hadn’t been quiet for quite some time. But the explosions, the screaming, it had all subsided into sobs and wails, and lamentations. They had to get out. Their home didn’t welcome them with open arms any longer. Over the bodies of Templar and mage alike, over broken stairwells, and shattered homes. The Gallows, looming, and the Chantry missing from the skyline.   
She looked at her hands. Soot and blood squelched between her armoured fingers. The daggers on her back felt like steel weights, and her boots, like anchors as they walked. To the wounded coast, her companions urged. To the mountain? Grab what you can, Hawke. Are you listening? She wasn’t listening. How could she when everything was finally so quiet? There was tough grass under her feet. And sand. They had walked to the coast? Where did the time go? She looked up at the stormy sky and fell to her feet. She might have screamed. She might have cried. She remembered whose blood was on her gauntlets; a friend, a lover. She remembered and she screamed.   
“Hawke,” her companion broke the silence and the screaming, “Get up.” There was the sound of sliding metal plate, and the whooshing of leather. A bare hand was offered to her. Her mouth snapped shut, and she looked up at her friend. He was the last one she expected a hand from, “we have to move. Get up.”  
She placed her hand in his and let herself be tugged to her feet.  
“The elven ruins in the mountains. We can hide there until morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Hawke. You have to eat something, and I’m not going to force feed you,” Fenris said, trying to shove the rough wooden bowl at her again.

“… she’s grieving, Fenris, don’t force her to do anything just yet,” Hawke’s other companion muttered, braiding together a long chain of flowers with nervous, quivering hands. Those hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the battle began.

“Grieving wastes time,” He snapped, “We need to figure out where to go. We can’t go back to Kirkwall. Not now.”

She looked at her arguing friends blankly. Did they ever stop? These two had disliked each other when they met and it hadn’t changed after all those years, “Bowl…” She rasped, holding out her hand.

Merrill smiled, “See? There. It just takes time.”

Fenris handed over the dish and spoon, and Hawke took a large mouthful, only then realizing how starved she was.

“… You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” She muttered, shovelling food into her mouth.

She saw a rare sight, a small hint of a smile on Fenris’s face. He was pleased to see her sense of humour returning. 

“Hawke, are you alright?” Merrill asked, “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“… We can stop talking about Kirkwall…” Hawke said sharply, “For now. I can’t… not right now. Wh-where is everyone else? I don’t remember seeing them leave…”

Fenris set his bowl down on the broken temple altar- earning himself the closest thing Merrill had to a scowl- and leaned back against the cave walls, “Aveline never left. She’s rebuilding the guard ranks and recruiting from the Starkhaven forces, with help from Sebastian. Isabela left from the docks. Stole herself a boat. Varric disappeared before we even made it to the gates. Your sister is recovering things from the chantry with the remaining mages. You and I, and the mage… we were the only ones who stayed together.”

Hawke nodded, looking at Merrill for verification. The elven mage sighed, “It’s just the three of us.”

“A-and what’s this…? That I’m eating…?” Hawke asked, downing a few more spoonfuls.

“Rabbit,” Merrill answered, “And a few potatoes I grabbed from my house before we left. A couple herbs I knew grew around here. Mostly for taste, but a few have good magical uses. Keep up your strength.”

“Magical uses? And you got Fenris to eat it?” Hawke joked half-heartedly. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Fenris countered with a frown. 

Hawke sat up a bit, rolling her shoulders, most of the numbness inside and out was fading, threatening to turn back into tears, but she took a long breath and shoved the feeling aside. Now was the time for a champion, “our supplies? What do we got?”

Fenris dumped out a satchel unceremoniously, and reviewed its contents, “a map, a pair of daggers, some rope, silverware from the mansion, and a few cooking pots. In the basket we have rations; hard-tack bread, dried meats, rice, potatoes, and wine. I’m also carrying a few valuables. Sellable things; silver, obsidian, Denarius’ jewellery.”

“In mine I have my staff, a bow and a quiver of arrows, a few grimoires, a letter opener I use for spells, a couple elfroot tonics, a flask of lyrium, a broken shard of the eluvian, and a bundle of dried spindle-weed.”

“Leave it to the mage to only bring magic,” Fenris muttered, “All of that is primarily useless.” 

“Cut it out,” Hawke ordered, “We can use it all. Thank you, Merrill. We’re in… the elven ruins? Up in the mountains?”

Merrill nodded, “Fenris’ idea. It’s safe here. And I’ve set a few enchantments at the entrance. No one gets in without being covered in thorny brambles.”

Hawke relaxed, finishing her stew, and setting the empty wooden bowl aside, “Do we have a plan?”

“I’m afraid you’re looking at it,” Merrill said, tying the two ends on her long flower chain together, and wrapping it in a crown around her head. 

“Laurel and fern chains is the plan. Laurel and fern chains are a great plan,” Hawke said, trying on a small smile for the first time in what felt like eternity. 

“We don’t have water. This isn’t the time for foolishness,” Fenris interjected, “Take that damn thing off your head, and let’s get to a stream. I have my canteen here somewhere.”

Merrill blinked, “Oh. Alright. I don’t see why I can’t wear it and look for water.”

“Make me one when we get back, Merrill. I’ll wear it,” Hawke said, taking off her spiked shoulders, and breastplate for manoeuvrability.

“Maserannas, Hawke. Then I’ll make one for Fenris. Maybe it will make him less angry,” Merrill added, picking up her staff.

Hawke grinned, setting her daggers on her back, “I’d pay two hundred sovereigns to see that.” 

Fenris scoffed, and stood, dusting off his tunic, “We’re losing daylight.”

The three of them shrugged off what armour they could spare to remove, and grabbed their lightest weapons. Merrill knew the area better than the other two, and led the way. Fenris preferred having her in front of him where he could watch her, so it worked out fine for everyone. The stream was only an hour’s hike from the ruin, and the path was clear and easy to follow. While Merrill filled three canteens full of water, Hawke and Fenris set out looking for anything edible. A few rabbits and a pheasant were all they could grab before they heard talking in the distance.

“Shh,” Fenris hissed, motioning for Hawke to get low, “We’re not alone.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and shot him her best “No shit,” look before doing as told. She reached for her daggers slowly, soundlessly, and locked eyes with her counterpart, who nodded, placing a hand on the hilt of his claymore. 

“The whole place is in ruins,” Came one of the voices, a gruff man, with good sized shoulders from wielding the large sword on his back. He threw what looked like a rabbit bone into their fit-pit, “Where are we supposed to take our cargo? The orders were for tomorrow morning, but our contact hasn’t sent word.”

“This deal has fallen through. We should just contact the Magister and inform her,” came another voice. This one was female, but no less harsh.

“pl-please don’t send us back there.”

Hawke squinted. The third voice was soft and frightened, and she couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

“Quiet, knife-ear,” snapped the first man, “You go as ordered.” There was the sound of a blow landing and a sharp gasp, followed by the frightened sobs of a small group of people. 

Hawke looked over at Fenris, whose face had twisted into a cold mask of rage. It fell into place, then. Slavers. These people were tevinter slavers. He drew his sword soundlessly.

“Tch!” Hawke warned. She motioned that she would take them out quietly. As skilled as her companion was, subtle he was not. She quickly moved from her place in the brush. Her foot-falls silent, as she went. It felt right, doing this again. With no large scale, no moral balance, no war to fight. Just her stopping someone evil. She slide up behind the first man, and effortlessly put her dagger where it belonged; in the soft crook of the slaver’s neck. The woman jumped to her feet, drawing a sword, but before she could make a move to attack, her head was gracefully removed from her body. Fenris wiped off his blade, and set it back to its resting position. Quick, simple, and easy. 

“They got what was coming for them,” Hawke said, sheathing her own weapons, and kicking at the slaver’s lifeless body, “Bet they got nice supplies. They said they worked for a magister. I’m sure they have the best of the best.” She rifled through their pockets and satchels, taking coin, jewellery, and weapons. This was better than the stream. Perfect cornucopia of useful things. 

Fenris, on the other hand, knelt down and looked over the shackles immobilizing the elven slaves, “Hawke. Keys?”

Hawke tossed the ring over to him, and he opened the restraints, “You’re free. But Kirkwall fell last night. You can’t go there. East is Starkhaven. Take some of their weapons and provisions and move.”

The elf with the split lip put his hands on Fenris’ cheeks, “Thank you, serah. Thank you! Not many would do such a thing for the likes of us.”

“I was the likes of you,” Fenris said coldly, pulling away, “Hawke. Give them coin and supplies.”

Hawke nodded and sorted three hundred sovereigns into a small coin purse, and handed it to the older man with the bloodied lip. The slavers’ swords she handed to the two younger women, and a bag of rations and medicine she gave to the only child, “East is that direction,” she added, pointing, “I would go quickly if I were you. Light is fading fast.”

The freed people gave their tearful thanks, and started heading east the way she had gestured. After they disappeared from sight, Fenris went back to plundering the camp. Amongst the provisions he found a roster, “Look at this. A schedule. A schedule of all the slave shipments for the next three months. I recognize the look of it.”

“And I found porn!” Hawke cheered, showing her new found treasure to Fenris with a flourish, “Look at the pictures!!”

He made a face, and batted her hand away, “Maker, get that away from me. This is serious.” 

“Alright, alright, let me see,” she sidled up next to him, taking a look, “what’s it say?”

Fenris heaved a long suffering sigh, “Hawke.”

“Oh shit, right. Give it here,” She took it from him, “yeah. This is detailed, too. Drop off times and ship names. Even the names of the slaves are written here.”

“Do you realize what opportunity this presents us?” Fenris asked, taking the parchment back, and tucking it into his pack, “We could intercept these shipments. Free these people. No one would be the wiser, as Kirkwall is in disarray…”

Before Hawke could answer, there was a rustle in the braches behind them. She drew her dagger, earning a frightened gasp from Merrill.

“I just heard you talking and- oh… by the dread wolf… what’s happened here?” 

“Some slavers got their just desserts, is what happened,” Hawke answered, “And we get our just supplies. Everyone wins.” 

“Slavers? What were they doing up in the mountains?” Merrill asked, taking the bags Hawke offered, and slinging them onto her back.

“They couldn’t get into Kirkwall. Not with everything that’s happened,” Fenris answered, “Their loss was our gain. And the freedom of a dozen people.” 

“If there were people trying to get into Kirkwall today, that means there could be more groups camping out here. We should get back to the ruins, before we run into trouble,” Merrill suggested. She lit a soft green flame in the centre of her palm, “I’ll light the way.”

The small band wandered back to the opening of the cave, and settled in for the night. Hawke poured everyone a cup of wine, and toasted to their random encounter. They boiled the water from the stream, and sealed it off for drinking later, and set up bed-rolls and lanterns of veil-fire courtesy of Merrill. And as Marian Hawke set her weapons and armour aside, curling into the warmth of a bed-roll with a soft buzz of wine in her head, she swore she could feel the pain of Kirkwall fading away.


	3. Chapter 3

In the week that followed, the smoke from Kirkwall subsided, and there was a heavy sense of change in the wind. Only at the times when Hawke looked down at her hands did she experience what she’d done anew. At night, she could still hear the screams, feel the flames on her cheeks, and the blood on her fingers. She could still see his face as the knife slid past his ribs and into his heat. But during the bright, crisp, day, it was only the stuff of nightmares. All pretend, and easily forgotten. 

She liked it up here. The air was fresh, and the weather was brisk but pleasant. And she had her friends. She felt secure. The ground had stopped falling underfoot, and it was rebuilding, brick by brick. She had read Fenris the itinerary found at the campsite, and he was busy planning, drawing shapes in the dust, and mumbling about tactics. She always marvelled at how much he managed to record without being able to write. Merrill came and went. Being holed up in the cave had been driving her mad. So during the days it was just the two of them. Sitting in silence, and waiting. Avoiding everything. Forgetting to plan for anything but the next raid. They trapped what they could, conserved what they could. She longed for hot water and a decent latrine, but for what it was worth, everything was better than it could have been. 

“Can you make grenades?” The sudden question shook her back to her senses.

“Hm? Uh… with the right stuff maybe?” She answered, “But you know, grenades are pretty random. You toss one and hope it stays put, but sometimes it doesn’t and the shit you wanted to stay safe gets blown to smithereens.” 

“Right. None of that, then. Thank you,” Fenris returned to his dust drawings.

“You know, that’d be easier if you swallowed your pride and let me teach you.”

“To read?”

“Yeah. And write, while I’m at it,” Hawke shrugged.

“Forget it,” Fenris said, a slight note of venom to his voice, “I won’t be put in your debt. My shortcomings are my own.”

“That’s stupid. You’re stupid,” Hawke teased, “And besides. I have saved your broody ass about umpteen times. You’re so far in my debt, I bet you taste my coin-purse when you fall asleep at night.”

That got her a scowl, “And I’ve gotten your spoiled, clumsy, tactless corpse out of an equivalent number of situations. Don’t pretend we’re not equal in that regard.” 

“Yeah. Whatever. I guess we’re even,” Hawke said, waving her hand vaguely. 

“The next ship is scheduled to dock in two days’ time. That gives us a chance to be prepared,” Fenris said, changing the subject, “you and I are going in by ourselves, and taking them down from the inside out.”

“No Merrill?”

“I leave out blood mages as often as I can,” He said vehemently, “Besides. She’s graceless when it comes to raids or covert attacks. You’ve seen her. Floating around, with blossoms in her hair, like the word hasn’t gone to kaffas.”

“I think it’s nice. I wish I could wear laurel crowns and whistle right now.” 

“As do I, but now is not the time.”

Hawke snorted, “I want to see that. You skipping, covered in flowers. I think I would laugh so hard I’d hurl.” 

“You imply I’m not a content person,” Fenris said offhandedly, “I am not as angry as you make me out to be.” 

“Eh. Bull-shit. I’m getting a snack,” Hawke shrugged, rooting around for the dried meats in the make-shift larder. 

“Don’t snack. We have limited supplies.” Fenris chided, scribbling more lines in the dirt at his feet. 

“Yeah, Imma call your bluff on that. I saw you eating that bag of nuts yesterday between meals. Don’t be a faker,” Hawke said. She wandered over and sat next to him, “Explain these doodles to me.”

“They’re not doodles,” Fenris said, “This is the boat, you see. And the dotted line is me, and the curvy line is you.”

“Curvy line? Ooh. I’m the curvy line,” Hawke said, elbowing his ribs lightly. 

“Quiet. Now see, I start out here, by the bow. If I make enough noise they all get drawn to the thinnest part of the boat. I can take them out, and you can get below deck.” 

“Alright. Sounds good. What about the mages?”

“Fair point, perhaps you should talk to Merrill. She may know a few tricks to subdue magic.”

“We’re involving her now?” 

“Out of necessity. Don’t read into it.” 

“I’m not reading into it. It was an honest question,” Hawke laughed. 

“This is why you constantly get yourself injured. You never take a single thing seriously,” Fenris said, “Even during the battle in Kirkwall you were as quick with a joke as ever-“

“Don’t,” Hawke snapped, “Don’t talk to me about that. We’re not talking about it. Not here. Not now.”

He looked startled, then seemed to relax, “I apologize, Hawke.”

“Look. All I want right now is purpose. I need to try to fix what I broke. And if I can stop evil bastards from hurting people like you, I’ll give it my all, just… don’t talk to me about Kirkwall.” 

“I won’t. I’m sorry. What you did… it took strength. I am not entirely sure I could do it, and still be able to smile.”

Hawke gave him a weak smirk, “You hardly smile anyway.”

“Let’s go over the plans again.”


	4. Chapter 4

The days turned to weeks, and one slaver ship turned into two. They became a well-oiled machine, taking out guards with their bow and arrow, and cleaning out the rest. 

Only the one ship actually carried slaves. They freed each one, giving them a small amount of coin and a gesture in the way of Starkhaven. They had always worked well together. After all, they had known each other for almost eight years, even if they hadn’t gotten along for some of it. From the last ship they found there was a small encampment in the mountains, relaying messages about contacts. Naturally, they couldn’t leave that be. They set their things, and headed out. 

Fenris scoped out the area, and signalled to Hawke to set an arrow in her bow. Hawke loved the waiting and watching as long as it didn’t take too long. It felt like the air was full of electricity. She drew the string back, and exhaled, ready to let loose as soon as she spotted someone. And they did not keep her waiting. She let go of the arrow, the bowstring snapping past her cheek. The Slaver went down like a pile of bricks, and as soon as the other looked up in fright, he was down, too. Fenris trotted up next to her and sat down, a small smile on his face, and light in his eyes. He face was flushed as he looked at her, “The other two were on patrol. They… ran into trouble.”

“Those Vinty bastards are gunna have a hard time figuring things out without their information stream. There won’t be any slaves sold in Kirkwall for a good while.”

And out of nowhere, there were lips on hers, and hands in her hair. She gasped and pulled back in shock.

“Wow. Wow. Wow… okay. Not the direction I saw this day going-“ Hawke stammered.

“Be quiet,” Fenris said, his lips finding hers again. Just for a moment. Before he stood up and grabbed two empty bags, “Let’s get their supplies.”

“Um, no? You put your lips on my face? And now you’re walki- you’re walking away! He’s walking away! Fenris!” she ran after him. 

“Be sure to get their documents, and burn them. We don’t want any potential recovery.”

“Yeah. Right. Good. Great plan. So about two seconds ago, you kissed me, and I just wanted to ask you a question or three? If that’s alright with you?”

“Can you ask and pack at the same time?”

“We’ll see,” Hawke said, crossing her arms, “The more you talk, the faster I pack.” 

Fenris sighed, and looked at her, “What do you want to hear, Hawke? Am I not allowed to get caught up in the moment?”

“Uh, you? No. Not usually. You’re not… spontaneous,” Hawke said flatly. 

“Perhaps people can surprise you,” Fenris stated, “burn those documents.”

Hawke gathered up the papers, tossing them into the fire. She could feel it. She was blushing. The air sort of tickled her ears. This was stupid. Kissing was certainly allowed. It was always welcome. But when it came from someone like Fenris, it got confusing. Normally a peck in the heat of battle meant nothing. She herself was proof of that. She had planted her lips on almost all of her companions- Merrill, Isabela, and Aveline. But never Fenris. Sure, she had wanted to. His sour expression was always begging for a smooch. But it never seemed welcome, so she refrained, “Yeah… so two seconds ago you kissed me, and I just wanted to ask you some questions,” she repeated, shoving the slavers’ provisions into her bag. 

“You have three. Use them wisely.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Uh… okay. So… question two; did you… like it?”

“Of course. I no longer do things I don’t enjoy.”

“… sure, sure. Freedom, and everything. Sounds great. Does that kiss mean you, sort of like me?” Hawke asked, standing back up, and putting a hand to her cheek, trying to shove the blush back from whence it came.

Fenris cast a look her way, “Were you under the impression that I didn’t?”

“I was under the impression that you barely tolerated me,” Hawke supplied. 

“Obviously that is not the case-“

“Hello!” Merrill said brightly, “I heard the fuss. I’m very happy it’s you two. I hate wandering into people I don’t know. They give me such looks… you’re giving me such looks right now, actually. What? Have I interrupted a secret discussion?”

“N-no, Merrill. We’re happy to see you. It’s been a few days. How are you?” Hawke stammered. 

“We were just heading back to the ruins camp. Help us carry supplies,” Fenris shoved a bag at her. She flinched, looking to Hawke for cues.

“He’s in… a weird mood tonight,” She offered, with a half-smile. Merrill nodded, and they made their way back to their camp. They dropped their bags, and lit the campfire. They divvied out supper, and ate in silence. Merrill, looking confused, and Hawke, looking anywhere but at Fenris, who seemed largely unaffected by the new, awkward haze around the fire-pit. As they light waned outside, and the flames dimmed, they tucked into their respective bed-rolls. Merrill was out like a light, and Hawke was joined in her sleeping roll.

“Do you mind? I won’t stay if you do.”

She thought a moment, then moved back into the new warmth, “N-no. Stay. It’s a little cold. I could use the contact.” 

“I don’t just ‘barely tolerate’ you,” He whispered, “I enjoy being around you. We may not see eye to eye at all times. But we’re changed people.”

Changed people, he said. Hawke sighed, and shut her eyes, hoping the change was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has nothing to do with anything... but there are, like, nine ladybird beetles in my room right now, and they keep flying into my forehead. It's obviously some sort of conspiracy.


	5. Chapter 5

Merrill’s quotidian rhythm was structured differently than most. Namely, it seemed to believe the waking hour started promptly at five a.m. Every morning, she was awake and chipper at dawn’s first light, and that morning was no exception.

“Good morning!” She chirped, sitting up and stretching her arms upwards with a tiny determined groan, “did you two slee- oh. You two are sleeping together. Was it chilly? Should I have created more veil-fire?”

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut, and feigned deep sleep. Somehow she knew Fenris was doing the same behind her.

“Oh my. You’re still asleep, then. I’m going for a morning walk… I saw some mushrooms that are good for eating and- why I am saying all of this? You’re asleep! You can’t hear me. Be back before too long!” She gathered her staff and set out. Silence reigned once again. But not for long. Fenris stirred behind her, and she felt the flutter of lips on the nape of her neck.

“H-Hey, what are you doing?”

“The mage is gone,” Came the simple answer, along with more determined kisses to the space behind her ear. She could feel his breath against her skin, and she clenched her fists to prevent herself from shivering.

“Yes… she leaves every morning,” Hawke replied. 

“I couldn’t very well do this in front of her,” Fenris mumbled into her shoulder. His arms snaked around her waist slowly. It was such a comfort. The sensation relaxed her, and she could barely recall the last time someone had done that. It must have been years ago. Even towards the end, her last lover had stopped sleeping in her bed- stopped holding her, and kissing her. It had been like he was fading from her life. But this new contact was solid and present. She relished it and loved it. I was like falling back into an old pattern. 

“And um, what is this exactly?” Hawke asked, rapidly starting to feel a bit over-heated- but in a pleasant way. 

“I was hoping you’d get the hint, and not require a verbatim explanation,” Fenris said flatly, moving in a bit to kiss her jaw.

“I get it, I get it,” Hawke laughed, “Maker’s breath, I get it!”

“Come here, then.”

Hawke turned around, and her lips were met eagerly, “Well good morning to you, too,” She said, running her hands through his hair. It was softer than it looked, and she couldn’t help but card it through her fingers. 

“M,” Fenris agreed, biting her lip, trying to antagonize her.

“… From first kiss to morning sex in less than 24 hours. This is a slippery slope you’re riding,” Hawke teased, “Should I be worried about your sanity?”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said, “what about yours?”

“Already shot,” Hawke shrugged. 

He snuck his hands up her tunic, and found purchase on her breasts, “Hm… It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of bedding a woman.”

“You’ve bedded men recently?” Hawke asked, intrigued.

“I was not always alone at the mansion,” Fenris said with a smirk, “I had callers.” 

“Colour me impressed,” She grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. And for the first time, she saw the entirety of his master-given markings. They trailed down his throat to his pelvis, over his ribs and under his arms. They wove vines around his arms and legs, ending at his toes and fingertips. She was rendered breathless. He flinched slightly, pulling back.

“Maker, sorry. I d-didn’t mean to stare,” She said softly, “I was just thinking it’s… terrible that they’re so beautiful, you know? I feel bad for liking them.”

“It’s not your fault,” Fenris said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve been told they’re beautiful many times.”

She pulled him back against her, with deep kisses, “Let’s talk about something else-“

“Or not at all?”

“Not likely,” She smiled, “Is it offensive if I say I like you ears?”

“Only slightly,” He smiled back at her. A genuine smile, and she nearly swooned. In all their years together, she had not once seen such a sincere smile from him. That sealed the deal for her. She needed this.

“My clothing is still in the way?” she hinted, biting her lip.

“Apologies,” He said, unlacing the collar of her tunic slowly. He slid it over her head, tossing it aside, before kissing along her collarbone, and down her chest. He pressed his lips to her throat, until their lips met again. He made slow work of her leggings, running his hands up her thighs before unbuttoning them.

By now, Hawke was suffering from shortness of breath, and a flushed face. Normally she prided herself on maintaining composure for quite a while when being teased, but it had been so long since she had been touched like this, “Fuck… you’re not playing fair.”

“I never said I played fair,” He told her. He traced his finger down her chest, and over her stomach, and even lower. 

“Okay, now I know you’re evil,” Hawke said, holding back a gasp. 

Fenris took that as a challenge, moving his fingertips back a bit further, and flexing them ever so slightly. This earned him a whimper, and the arching of Hawke’s back.

“Maker…” Hawke sighed, “F-Fenris…”

He made a soft sound, something akin to a subtle moan, “I’ve never heard my name said like that…” He muttered, “Say it again for me?”

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed, at this point eager to comply. It was at that moment that the air around them became intimate. It had been light and playful, but with the utterance of his name, the aura of the campsite felt private, warm, and secluded. He moved his hands back to her hips, and he kissed her, open-mouthed and fervent.

“Marian,” He said, pulling away a bit, to look her in the eyes, “May I call you that?”

She nodded, “O-only seems fair…”

He ran his fingers through her hair again, smoothing it back from her forehead, “Marian, then…” He said. 

She could feel her cheeks burning, and her heart beat was quick enough to be felt through her chest. She let her hands trace the markings on his chest and stomach lightly, before following them down to his hips, grabbing hold of him. She slowly guided him to where she needed, biting her lip. He complied, moving his hips forward sharply, making the contact deeper. She gasped, and let her head lull back in relief and gratitude. She rolled her hips into his slowly, letting curses and whimpers stutter from her lips. Their movements were fluid, as if they were well practice and instinctual. As if they had always been together. It wasn’t perfect. It never was. But it was what they had both needed for a long time. It all came to a perfect end; Hawke calling out his name, strained and overwhelmed, lips quivering, nails digging into his back. Fenris, quiet, biting down on her shoulder, his hands fists in her hair. They parted, short of breath, cheeks rosy, and slicked with sweat. 

“Maker, that was fun,” Hawke said, looking over to Fenris, laying by her side, “We should make that a habit.”

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips, “I think we should.”


	6. Chapter 6

A year spent in the mountains, picking off random bands of slavers went faster than expected. It was year thirty eight of the ninth age, and there was a ring on Marian Hawke’s finger. It was nice. It was sturdy, and cold, and fit snuggly. The odd thing about it was that it was there at all. But she and Fenris had discussed at length, and with the new rash of civil wars breaking out across Thedas, dedication and commitment seemed like a good option. Hawke never thought of herself as the marriage type. It seemed superficial and petty. Real connections didn’t require metal bands, or foolish vows (only one of which this marriage had), and she never planned on liking someone enough for that to change. In reality, it hadn’t much changed. She still though marriage was idiotic, and artificial, but the ring around her finger felt grounding and safe. It was a physical reminded that Fenris had her back no matter the fight. It was nice. 

Merrill had been ecstatic. The smile on her face could have lit a thousand skies. She wanted to plan the ceremony, and was nearly heartbroken when she found out there wouldn’t be one. Fenris has simply called in a favour with the Guard Captain of Kirkwall, and had two simple pewter rings made. And that was that. No ridiculous frippery, just two people promising a lifetime together. As long or short as that might be. It felt right. And after a few months of being newly married, Hawke was delighted to find nothing different about their relationship at all. They still bickered, disagreed sometimes, threw things and yelled, kissed in apology, and made love when they could. Nothing had changed, and it was perfect. Hawke had written to Varric, telling him about how much like one of his moronic romances it was. Two people in love, living in a remote mountain, enjoying the earth, and fighting crime on the side? He would have loved to see it. She barely looked down on Kirkwall anymore. She hardly thought of the soot and blood between her fingers, and the feel of sliding a knife into a lover’s back. It had all melted into the background. 

One particular morning, she opened her eyes, to find herself rushing to the bushes, promptly emptying her stomach of a breakfast it hadn’t yet received.

Fenris sat up, looking at her quizzically, “You sneak something in the middle of the night? Something that didn’t sit right?” 

“No… Nothing,” She groaned, trying not to retch again, “I swear to the Maker.”

“Hm,” Fenris shrugged, “Drink some water, and get dressed. That Magister is docking in Kirkwall this morning, and I won’t be late to “greet” him because your stomach is punishing you.”

“Oh har har, Fenris,” Hawke said, before heaving once again, “Th-this isn’t the Hawke comedy hour.”

His face softened, “Are you alright, amatus? Is there anything I can do?” 

“M-make me tea? The mint tea?” Hawke said, pushing sweat-soaked hair from her brow, “That would make me happy maybe.”

“Deal,” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and set a tin kettle to boil over the fire. He shrugged into his armour as they waited, tightening his gloves, and adjusting his breastplate, “Look… I’d like to stay and see to your health. But I have less than an hour to make it to the docks. You understand, don’t you?”

Hawke nodded, and sighed, “Yes. Of course. Give ‘em some pain for me, okay?”

“I’ll be back by nightfall. Please try to keep your food down,” He grabbed his claymore, and set down the trail to the wounded coast, leaving Hawke nauseated, alone, and annoyed. She pouted for a while, before accepting that pouting at an empty campsite did nothing for anyone. She made herself a cup of the tea she had wanted, and sat against a large tree, sipping absentmindedly. 

“Hawke? Fenris?” Merrills voice came from the underbrush, “Haw- oh. Good morning, Hawke!” She chirped, showing Hawke the basket full of fish she had caught. The smell caused another violent reaction, and Hawke doubled over for the third time that morning. 

“Oh… oh dear… Hawke, are you ill?”

She nodded, wiping her mouth, “I must have eaten something bad… Y-you’re a mage. A healer. C-can you do something about all this? I’d love to have something to eat that would stay put.” 

Merrill set down her fishy basket, and sat by Hawke’s side, “Give me a moment. I’ll have to figure out what the problem is.” 

“Do what you have to, just… no spirits, okay?” 

“No spirits,” Merrill agreed. She ran her hands above Hawke’s body slowly, and she could feel the warmth there. Magic had always felt warm to Hawke. Ever since Bethany and she were children, and Beth had mended her scraped knees. After a moment, Merrill put a hand to her mouth, and her eyes lit up in that very Merrill way.

“What? Are you messing with me?” Hawke asked, “Can you do something or not?”

Merrill just giggled, “U-um, Marian? When was your last moon cycle?”

“The fuck is that?”

“Your monthlies, Hawke. When did you have them last?” Merrill clarified.

“Huh? I dunno. I normally don’t keep track. Like, when it happens, it happens. It’s not always the same time each run, you know?”

“Marian… you’re not ill,” Merrill smiled, looking less adorable and more annoying every second.

“I’m pretty sure I am. It’s not normal to wake up, hurling your guts,” Hawke said tersely. 

“Oh it is,” Merrill said, “if you’re pregnant.”

Hawke felt all the colour drain from her face, “No… no. You’re shitting me. No, no, no, no, no.”

“It’s wonderful, Hawke! It’s so wonderful! And amazing!” Merrill said, “such good news.”

“Not good. Not good news, Merrill. Bad news. Very, very bad,” Hawke shook her head, “Oh, Maker, no. I-I can’t be. This is the worst! I-I’m not mother material! Look at me! I live in a hole, and kill people! Oh, maker, no… no. I’m not ready for this. No way. Absolutely not! NO.”

“Well…there are things I can do. Stop the whole thing. It’s not pretty, but it works,” Merrill offered meekly, “But… really you should talk to Fenris first.”

“It’s not his body. I do what I want.”

“Oh. No, you misunderstand me!” Merrill said quickly, “I just meant he’d like to know. I mean… one can only assume this didn’t happen without his help…” 

“Oh, maker… Fenris. What am I going to tell him? My luck he probably hates children. We’d be the worst parents in Thedas. I mean… I always thought I’d maybe have kids in the distant future. But right now? During a massive war? On a mountain? No. no, no, no.” 

“It’s alright, Hawke,” Merrill said, taking her hands, “I think you’d be a wonderful, if not, unusual mother!”

“Maker’s breath…” Was all she could say in response. It felt like the air had been beaten out of her lungs with a club. She shut her eyes, and covered her ears, trying to forget what was happening. If she could just breathe. She gasped, trying to force her lungs to work again. After a moment, her heart calmed, and she became aware that Merrill was rubbing her back, “I-it’s okay. You know? It’s fine. I mean, it’s like the whole marriage thing. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready. But it turned out great. B-because who knows how much time we have? K-Kirkwall’s a sodding pile, my last lover blew up the chantry, Fereldan’s at war with itself and falling to shit, and I’m being hunted like a limping elk with a terrible sense of direction. So… now or never, right?”

Merrill just stared, “That’s a frightfully dreary way to look at things…”

“It’s the only way I got,” Hawke said, taking deep breaths, “It’s fine. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe you’re right? Maybe it’ll be like the stability from all the blighting weirdness happening right now.”

“Perhaps,” Merrill nodded, “If… that’s what you think.” 

Hawke sighed, “It’s… going to be good. Fenris and I… we’ll talk about it. Like we’re responsible people who make good decisions.”

“It’s settled then! Good! That drought I mentioned takes days to make, and it smells worse than ghoul’s breath and dirty smallclothes combined!” 

Hawke managed a smile, “That’s… disgusting, Merrill.”

“Now, why don’t I whip up something to settle your stomach? Just the tea not helping, I imagine,” She said, “Keeper Marathari used to make the little ones this terrible tea out of spindle weed and elm bark. With honey to make it sweet.”

“You’re on. If what you make can keep my food down, I’ll name this kid after you.”

“Fenris would hate that idea,” Merrill smiled. She rummaged through her haversack, producing the herbs in question, and set to steeping the tea, “Mind if I work a bit of magic for this?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Hawke muttered, laying back against the tree. 

Merrill hummed a little tune, pricking her finger and letting a few droplets of blood fall into the fire under the kettle, “My health should be your health, then. A bit of friendly sharing. We are nearly sisters, after all.”

“Thanks, Merrill. You’re a good sister. The best. Even if you do attract demons... why must all my sisters attract demons?”

“After your stomach’s calmed down, I’ll cook a big dalish feast! This sort of event used to be celebrated in my clan. There are a few customary meals, in fact. But some of them require entire elks, so we’ll skip over that one. Do you like rosemary?” 

Hawke laughed. This disaster warranted a feast? It was all so very Merrill. 

The tea did wonders. And soon Hawke was on her feet, helping Merrill cook her dalish delicacies, most of which smelled amazing, and whetted Hawke’s previously absent appetite. 

“What’s this one? The orange one?” She asked, attempting to dip a spoon into the pot, only to get her fingers slapped.

“It’s a pumpkin soup. Pumpkins are a symbol of fertility and bounty.” 

“Um... it should be a symbol of ‘Hawke is hungry, let her eat,’” Hawke laughed, trying to get her spoon into the soup once again.

“No! Not until the entire family is here. I mean… usually in my clan that would mean the parent’s to be, the grandparents, the cousins, the aunts and uncles…but… For this feast, it’ll just be the parents. And me! So it’s even more important for everyone to be here first.”

“So help me, Merrill, I will eat this whole kettle of soup myself, and share none of it,” Hawke grinned, “Just a taaaaaste~”

“No! No tastes!” Merrill said, “No ‘sampling,’ no ‘just one bite.’ No! We’re waiting for Fenris!”

“Why are we waiting?” Fenris asked, stepping into the clearing, shrugging off his armour piece by piece.

“You’re covered in gore,” Hawke said flatly, “Is… any of that blood yours?”

“Only a bit.” 

“Are you in pain?” Hawke asked, dipping a wash cloth into a pot of hot water, and taking it to Fenris’s forehead.

“No. Let me have that,” He took the cloth and set to washing his own face and hands, drenching the rag in blood, “Why are we waiting? If you were hungry you should have eaten.”

“It’s a celebration feast!” Merrill chimed in eagerly, “I made all of the dalish recipes I could think of! Pumpkin soup, rosemary lamb, baked potatoes and tiny pearl onions!”

“… That’s a ridiculous waste of food and time…” Fenris said, raising an eyebrow, “Why do this in the first place?” 

Merrill twittered like a bird, “Because Hawke-“

“Because Hawke can speak for herself, thank you Merrill,” she said, covering Merrill’s mouth, and giving Fenris an apologetic smile.

The look on his face was an odd combination of bemused and suspicious, with a slight pleased undertone. Reading the man’s face was never and easy task. Hawke liked to think she was getting good at it. Half smile with raised brow? Generally good. Either ‘you amuse me, human’ good, or ‘sex. Now,’ good. Both goods were acceptable, “Marian? What’s going on here?”

“You remember this morning?”

“Vividly, much to my dismay.”

Hawke punched his shoulder, “Thanks. Thanks for that. You’re a true dream. Anyways. I was puking my guts out, right? Real nasty stuff, so I asked Merrill to fix me up. Obviously. But she told me there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Did you tell her that vomiting isn’t normal?”

“I did! You know me so well. Awww.”

“Hawke, stay on subject,” Fenris’s half smile became a full, exasperated smile.

“On subject. Right. So, Merrill told me nothing was wrong with me. But she did tell me… that um… Well. Yeah. Um. Who wants food?”

“Hawke!” Merrill scolded. 

“Right, right. Uh. I’m pregnant, and hungry, who wants soup?” 

There was a heavy pause, and Hawke’s heart dropped into the pit of her empty stomach. She had been right. He didn’t want this. She should have just asked Merrill to make that stupid tonic, and kept the whole thing to herself. 

“Say again?” Fenris asked softly, after a long while.

“Um… we… I… I’m pregnant?” Hawke said, closing her eyes as if the world itself was going to rise up and hit her in the face. She braced for anger and denial, but none came. Just a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“… That’s… very…” He managed, “I mean, it’s… unexpected…”

“You’re telling me,” Hawke muttered, “You… want me to… get rid of it, or..?”

“No! Of course not! It’s just strange timing! What do you take me for?” 

“How was I supposed to know how you’d react?! You’re not exactly mister crystal-clear intentions!”

“So you think I’d want you to get rid of it?” Fenris scowled, “Marian. I used to take care of my sister when I was young. I used to play with the other slaves’ children in the Magisters’ courtyard. I used to let them braid my hair, and tug on my ears. I may not look it, but I like children… at least I recall liking them In general… Do you really think so little of me?” 

“o-oh,” Hawke said quietly, “I… uh. I’m sorry.”

“… Can we eat now?” Merrill asked, “Now that the yelling is over?”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded, pulling Hawke closer to his side, “The yelling is over. We can eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Why must all my sisters attract demons" is my favourite thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: rape mention. (reference to Denarius' abuse of Fenris under slavery)

They had lost their clothing again. It felt like an eternity since they had shared an intimate moment, and it showed. As soon as they were alone, there were hands at buttons and ties, and desperate kisses. Hakwe made a myriad of contented noises as lips were pressed to every crook in her neck, and across her collar-bone.

“Hey, can I be in charge this time?” She asked with a tiny smirk. She surged up, and rolled Fenris onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head triumphantly. But instead of the previously half-lidded bedroom eyes she had been expecting, her lover’s eyes were shot wide with panic. He practically threw her off of him, and covered his face with his hand, shoulders heaving with strangled breaths. She scrambled back to his side, trying to pry his hands from in front of his eyes.

“F-Fenris? What’s going on?”

She leaned a bit closer, and only heard one phrase being whispered over and over. “No… stop… no stop…”

“H-hey… I stopped, we stopped! You’re freaking me out!” Hawke said, shaking his shoulder, “What’s wrong with you?!”

“… Stop…” 

She shook him harder, “Fenris. Come on!”

He tried to move back, his motions jolted and rushed. His usually graceful limbs tangling on themselves. He made a sound like he was attempting not to retch. He had broken out into a sweat, and his finger, now lowered from his face, were raking at his shoulders, drawing small pricks of blood, and tracing red lines over his skin. After the longest time, his rocking slowed, and his halted gasping evened to panting. His eyes, which have been wide and unblinking, finally closed with a long shaky breath, “H-H-Hawke… Hawke… water…”

Hawke blinked in surprise and brought him her canteen, “Here.”

He gulped down half of its contents, and dumped the rest of it over his head.

“What just happened…? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“D-don’t… don’t restrain me like that… fasta vass…never restrain me like that.”

And it fell into place. Denarius. Fenris had never explained to her exactly what his servitude had demanded. He had mentioned being a bodyguard, killing when ordered. Being beaten, starved, and left to die. He hadn’t gone into detail, but it made sense. He had been forced into intimacy- he had been raped. She blanked. What did she do? There was nothing that could have prepared her for solving this. She grabbed his hand, and moved in a bit closer, “um… can I… touch you? Is that okay?”

After a moment, he nodded slowly, and Hawke put her arms around him,“You going to be okay?”

“It will be fine. It’s happened before… though… I had hoped you would never see me in such a state.”

Hawke sighed, grabbing a blanket, and draping it over him, partially covering his head. He peeked out from underneath it, “What are you doing?”

“Making that weird bitter drink from Antiva that you like. And you’re sitting there, calming down.” 

Fenris gave a tiny smile, and tightened the blanket around himself, “… thank you, Marian…” 

“No problem,” She said, “… and, uh… really. It doesn’t make me think of you any differently. And if you wanna talk about shit? That’s what I’m here for, right?”

He nodded, “No. Really, Marian. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that "weird bitter drink" is coffee! Antiva's main exports are wine, wood-works, textiles (silks and linens), coffee, and of course, elven assassins.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: anxiety attack description... or my best attempt at describing one.

“Her name is Aveline,” Hawke told Fenris at one point.

“Maker, you don’t even know if it’s a girl,”

“She is. And her name is Aveline. No questions.”

“I’m not asking any questions. I’ve learned not to do that.”

“You’re a smart man,” Hawke nodded, sighing and stretching her arms back over her head, “Now rub my shoulders again.”

“Yes, champion, as you command,” Fenris smirked, moving over a bit to do as requested.

Hawke actually enjoyed this. The whole “mother-to-be” thing. She liked it. She missed going on raids, and missed running through brambles, and drinking wine until she laughed and it shot out her nose, but this was good, too. Everything seemed shiny and warm. Like maybe things weren’t so bad. And she wasn’t even five months along. She was showing through her clothes, and though he wouldn’t admit to it, Fenris was enchanted with the whole thing. He has been aloof and faintly terrified at the start. Didn’t talk about it much, never asked about how she was feeling. But he warmed up. He would offhanded mention baby things. Little shoes? Where were they going to get little shoes? Was it safe? Having a baby in a strange elven ruin? Where not two years ago, they slaughtered a demon? And maker help her, Merrill better not try anything with blood magic. Though the last one was a bit antagonistic, Hawke knew it had love behind it. Her feet ached a bit, and her shoulders and back were sore. Her shirts never contained her breasts anymore, and she was constantly starving, but something about being an incipient mother was… calming and nice.

Merrill interrogated her almost every two hours. And today was no different.

“Hawke? Those roots I gave you? Did you chew them?” She asked, sitting down by her feet.

“Yes. For the thousandth time. They taste like feet!”

“Are you getting enough protein? Fenris, are you making sure she gets her protein?”

Fenris just shot her a look.

“Can I speak with her alone for a moment?”

“Why?” Fenris narrowed his eyes, getting suspicious.

“Baby talk. It can get a bit… strange for men to hear,” Merrill blushed.

“I can listen.”

“No you can’t. Get out!” Merrill shrilled, smacking his knee with the back of her hand, “Out, out, out! Go!”

Fenris stood, reproachfully, and nodded, “I’ll be outside should incident arise.” He took his leave and Hawke just had to laugh.

“He’s over-protective already,” She grinned, “I think he’ll actually make a good dad. Weird, huh? Thank the maker, because I’ll probably be rubbish.”

“Hawke. Listen to me.”

“Listening.”

“… Mages always know where magic lies. It’s an ability we’re born with,” Merrill explained, “I’ve met mages who could sense the presence of magic from leagues away. And um… There’s magic here.”

“Well, yes. We’re sitting by an elven altar,” Hawke shrugged, “No biggie.”

“No, Marian. There’s magic coming from you. Your child is... more than likely a mage. It runs deep in bloodlines. Both of your sisters were blessed with magic... this child is a mage.”

Hawke thought this over, and tried not to panic, “… of course she is. Sh-should I tell Fenris?”

“Creators, no!” Merrill shook her head emphatically, “No, no! Who knows what he’d do!”

“What? He’d do what he’s been doing? Screaming internally and worrying about shoes!”

“Who knows!? He’s scary! And unpredictable! I know you love him, and I’m so happy you do, but I don’t trust him to think clearly about magic!”

Hawke’s veins turned to ice, “you don’t… trust him? Is that what you think of him? Some crazy, irrational, mage-hating sociopath?”

“No, Hawke, I-“

“That’s not fair, Merrill. You know that’s not fair! We’ve all seen- yes, even you- we’ve seen what corrupted magic can do! I love magic! You love magic! But we know it’s dangerous! And the situation with Anders-!” she gasped, clamming up. That was the first time she had said his name since she had ended his life. It came flooding back anew. Her hands shook, her heart pounded, as though it wanted to escape her body; like her brain had been poisoned by the utterance of the name, and running was the only way to survive. Sounds, flashes, heat on the back of her neck, muddled voices, high pitched keening, stabbing at her ears. No. Her entire being screamed no.

“Hawke!” Merrill shouted, but it seemed distant, like someone calling to her through lukewarm water, “Hawke come back to me! F-Fenris!”

Familiar hands clutched her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. The movement made her surroundings swim, but, oh… the heartbeat. The heartbeat was so soft and nice. She shut her eyes and listened, this heartbeat was still going. It sounded scared, but it was still there. She hadn’t stopped it, and it loved her. Her own heart settled, and the keening faded. The scent of charred flesh and smoke left her, and she could smell chilled autumn water, and her stability personified, holding her against him, “Fen..?”

“You j-just sort of shut down!” Merrill said, her voice quavering, “I-it was so frightening! Like you had died right in front of me!”

Hawke said nothing in return, just took tight fistfuls of Fenris’ tunic, and listened to his steady breathing.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked. To the layman there was no change in his stoic features, but to Hawke, it was clear- he was panicked for her. There was worry in the curve of his lips and fear knitted between his brows, “Tell me. Are you alright?”

She nodded, “I… uh… had a scary thought…”

“You had… a scary thought?” He asked, “… a waking nightmare?”

She nodded again, “I-I don’t know… I saw things and heard things? Fr-from Kirkwall…”

“... I see,” He said, “It can happen… when something horrible happens to you. It never leaves.”

“L-like your night-terrors? O-or… when I grabbed your wrists?” Hawke muttered, still trying to calm her shaking limbs.

“Just so,” He agreed, “Just focus on breathing for now. Count things you can see. Count things you can smell, then things you feel. Make yourself remember where you are right now.”

Hawke did as told; cave, pots and pans, bedrolls, Fenris… the stone, the earth, the seasons changing, flowers faintly… the cold ground, the crisp air, the cloth on her back, Fenris. Yes, most importantly, him. She let out a long, shaky breath, “O-okay. I’m okay…”

“That was terrifying!” Merrill said.

“Not as much for you and it is for her!” Fenris snapped, “What did you do, abomination? I have tolerated your presence in our lives for long enough without guard or question! Obviously I have made a mistake!”

“Fen… no… it was an accident,” Hawke said, tugging his sleeve, “d-don’t yell at her.”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“I simply told Hawke some valuable information! I was only helping!”

“I have seen your “helping”!” Fenris nearly shouted, “Tell me. Exactly what you did!”

“It wasn’t her, Fenris!” Hawke insisted, “It was me! I scared myself! I... I said his name. I… I talked about… Anders…”

Fenris fell silent, “you spoke of him..? And this happened?”

She swallowed hard, and nodded, “I guess his name is a no-no?” But the attempt at humour fell flat.

“But… that’s not what started it all… What were you discussing?”

“N-nothing!” Merrill vowed.

“The kids a mage!” Hawke blurted out, “She’s a mage. She has magic… she’s a mage.”

And the deepest silence Hawke had experienced oozed into the camp. Several emotions flashed across her partner’s eyes, unreadable. He looked away, shoulders tense, and hands balled into tight fists. Merrill slid a nervous hand towards her staff, and Hawke just watched, praying to whatever would listen that she was right about him. That he was a changed man, different from the one she met nine years ago. The air practically prickled as the muteness persisted. Finally, Fenris rolled his shoulders with a sharp exhale.

“Alright.”

“… What?”

“Alright.”

“What alright?”

“Maker, damn you Hawke, what do you think?!” he said through gritted teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether to tense further or relax. She was actually frightened. What did he mean? What did ‘alright’ mean?

“… Fenris, you can’t… Just because the child is a mage…” Merrill stuttered, stepping forward a bit.

“Can’t what?” he asked sharply, “What? What did you expect of me? Did you honestly expect that I would do anything- anything! - To harm them? That is my partner! And my child! What must you think of me, to imply otherwise!? I should kill you where you stand.” His hand was on a dagger, and Hawke jumped to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that followed.

“Enough!” she grabbed their ears and twisted, stunning both of them, and getting a strained yelp from Merrill, “I… have had a hard day. And I don’t think you two are helping. Like it or not, we’re family. And do family always like each other? No. Sometimes they want to murder each other’s stupid faces! But they don’t! Because they’re fucking family. Now you,” She gestured towards Merrill, “Get out. I need to talk to Fenris alone. Go on.”

Merrill mumbled something along the lines of a tearful apology, and wandered outside. Fenris, finally gaining possession of his own ear, stepped back a few paces and put his hands up in submission. She took them in her own with a sigh, “I’m sorry, Fen. Don’t be angry with me. Or Merrill… or yourself. Just… don’t be angry, alright?”

“I am no longer angry…” He said quietly, “I apologize for my outburst.”

“It’s understandable… I mean, it was uncalled for, but I get it. Just… promise me this one thing, okay?”

“Anything for you.”

“Promise you’ll love her, okay? Promise me you won’t hate her because she has magic! N-not all mages are like Denarius! Not all mages are like Anders! I know enough of them are, and you’re scared! But she won’t be like that! Promise me you’ll try!” The tears Hawke had been holding back trickled down her cheeks, slipping over her chin and onto their clasped hands.

Fenris’ eyes widened and he looked a bit flustered, “O-of course! I will. Of course! Marian, don’t cry… I’m ashamed it came to tears, please don’t cry.”

“Tell me you won’t go. You and Merrill are all I have left.”

He caressed her cheek, wiping away tears, “I’ll be by your side through all of it.” He pressed his lips to hers tenderly, “We agreed to be together. So we’ll be together.”

“B-because you love me? And her?” Hawke sniffled. She couldn't stop the embarrassing words from coming, just as she couldn't keep the tears from falling, "I know you don't like saying it... but please say it."

“Because I love you both,” he said. And Marian knew he was true to his word.


	9. Chapter 9

“Hawke? Come with me a while. I have a gift for you.”

Hawke sighed and rolled her eyes, “My feet hurt and surprises that scare me end up in stab-wounds.”

Fenris chuckled, “It’s… not startling. Please come with me.”

She took his outstretched hand and let herself be pulled to her aching feet. He led her outside, a steadying hand on her lower-back.

“How are you two feeling today?” Fenris asked, taking her along a small worn path in the brush.

“She keeps kicking me,” Hawke pouted, “Like, stop it. What do you even have to be angry about? Taxes? Lyrium smugglers? Honestly. Pay rent, you parasitic little fuck.”

“You’re a wonderful mother,” Fenris said giving her a look.

“Say that to my boot,” She said, kicking at his feet playfully.

“Stop that, you’ll make me trip.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Marian,” He chided lightly, pulling her into an embrace, “Please. This doesn’t require violence.”

“Maker, like you can talk mister “slash-first-and-ask-later”,” She kissed his cheek.

“Just follow me without harming me, is that too much of a request?”

“Noooo,” She said, “I’ll be good.”

He took her hand again, and they walked a good while. It was late autumn, the leaves wear all turning shades of amber and scarlet, and the air hate a bite to it that warned of winter to come. Luckily, the two of them had intercepted a group of Antivan slavers two weeks back, and acquired some warm clothing. Hawke buried her nose in the wool scarf around her neck, and moved in a bit closer to Fenris.

“It’s chilly,” She complained, “Can’t we just go back to the warm ruins and make some soup?”

“No. This is much better. On my honour.”

He brought her to an unfamiliar clearing, in the middle of which was a small pool of water. It looked calm, and welcoming. It beckoned you to sit beside it and take a drink. Merrill often called these places spiritual locations, because of the feeling you get standing in them- like being wrapped in the veil itself.

“It’s beautiful,” Hawke marvelled, “When did you find this?”

“Three days ago on that run Merrill and I took. And she suggested I show you.”

“Why..?”

“Because you’ve been on edge recently,” Fenris admitted, “She made us something, as well. Something for your nerves.” He tugged a few stones from the pouch on his belt.

“Rune stones? What do I need rune stones for?” Hawke asked.

“By Andrate’s grace, you are the most impatient person I have ever met,” Fenris said, putting his hands on his hips, “The runes aren’t for you. They’re for the water. They’re fire runes.” He tossed the stones into the pool, and after a few moments, steam began to rise from the surface.

“I get it! Hot water! Oh maker, yes!” Hawke cheered, her face lighting up.

Fenris nodded, “You haven’t had a hot bath in over a year. Go on. Get in.”

Hawke tossed her clothing aside, dipping her toes in, “That is the best thing I have ever experienced. This is an orgasm in nature form.” She climbed in all the way, feeling the tension flow from her body. Fenris joined soon after, sighing in contentment.

“Merrill also found something else for you,” He said, reaching into the nearby bushes, and tugging a basket into the open. He pulled something from it, and tossed it at his partner, “It’s a pear. You said you were craving pears.”

Hawke’s eyes sparkled, looking down at the fruit. She took a bite eager. It was perfectly ripe. The flesh was soft and sweet, and the juice dribbled down her chin as she ate, “Maker’s tits this is the best thing ever.”

“I’m glad you like them. This life we have is decent enough- But it’s no life for an expectant mother. Hence the hot bath and the pears.”

“Thank you, Fen. I love you.”

“I love you, too. You’re far along, so I thought I would attempt to relax you a bit,” Fenris said, “Move in a bit closer.”

She tossed the pear rind into the forest, and sidled in front of him. He rubbed her shoulders, kneading out the knots.

Hawke sighed, “Is it weird that I’m scared? Like, honestly terrified?”

“Of what?”

“The whole thing? The giving birth thing. It’s gross and painful and long and bad! I’d rather be in a battle. And least that I can run away from.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all.” He grabbed himself a pear from the baskets, and started to peel it with the dagger from his belt, “none of this was something you wanted. In fact, I inadvertently forced it on you. I apologize for that, by the way.”

“I could have opted out,” Hawke said, “But I didn’t.”

“… Did you even want children? We haven’t spoken about it. We just took this in stride, and forgot the discussions.”

Hawke sighed, “I’m not sure. I hadn’t really given it too much thought. It always seemed like something far off. Like it wasn’t something that could happen,” She gave a short laugh, “oddly, you’d think this would have happened sooner. I’ve always been a bit loose.”

“But you don’t regret any of this?”

“No. I guess not,” Hawke replied, grabbing another pear, “I think I’m happy about it.”

“I’m glad. I think I am as well,” Fenris agreed, “I never imagined I would have what we have.”

“A cave?”

  
He chuckled, “No. Not the cave. The life. Yes, of course, we are living in a cave full of elven ruins, and there are far more blood mages than I’d prefer… But we’re together. It’s interesting how things resolve themselves.”

“… You’re a smart cookie,” Hawke said wistfully, trying to play off how emotional she was feeling. The hormones would be the death of her pride. She had already had an unforgivable bought of tears, she wasn't eager to have another.

“In any matter, this is the way things have happened. I am slowly realizing that the past is set in stone, and dwelling on the parts you wish to change is like trying to carve your name into marble with a spoon.”

“Wow. Someone has finally grown the fuck up,” Hawke said, giving him a sarcastic smile.

“Perhaps a bit.”

“If there’s anyone I could have fallen into this shit-hole with… I’m pretty glad it was you,” Hawke said earnestly.

“Likewise,” Fenris pressed his lips to her temple, “Even if you do get on my nerves from time to time.”

“So… names. I know I kept insisting on Aveline- she did save my dumb ass when we first met. But that’s not exactly a gender neutral name. Do you have any names that have meaning for you? I’d hate to hog the feelings”

“Hm… Not many, to be honest. Just one…. Erenthall. He was Denarius’s chef. He used to sneak me food under the table… He always had room in his heart for the other house-staff, myself included.”

“Erenthall. He was an elf?”

“Elf-blooded actually. His mother was a magister, herself. That’s the reason, even though he was a slave, he was given an allowance. I never had that luxury. The other name, now that I think about it, is Marian. For obvious personal reasons.”

“My name is off limits.”

“Fair enough. I’d like to add that my name is also off limits.”

“Not even Leto?”

“Especially that,” Fenris said coolly, “Never that.”

“I suppose if I were to make a list, Aveline, Varric, Leandra after my mother… How funny would it be to name a son after the king? Alistair. If he ever found out, he’d probably find it hilarious. Let’s put it on the list.”

“Alistair. The name of the warrior who vanquished the blight. It’s a good name…” Fenris contemplated aloud, "Though Varric is preferable. A young man under that name will grow up clever, if not a bit... dubious."

“I like Leandra it’s my mother’s name, obviously… but it also sounds dainty enough to be girly, but tough enough to wield a giant sword!”

“Your mind is an interesting place, Marian Hawke.”

“Leandra or Varric then?” She asked with a grin.

“Yes… perfect.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke was upset that she couldn’t drink. Because her husband could. And did. Very much. 

Though her back was as painful as ever, she had decided to join Merrill on an afternoon walk, coming back to three empty wine bottles, and a drunken elf, tossing peanut-shells into the fire. 

“Marian!” He said, clamouring to his feet, “Hello. I wasssjust waiting for you.” 

“I can see that,” Hawke smiled. His face was flushed, and it looked like he had run his hands through his hair so many time, that it was sticking up at odd angles. And stranger still, he was grinning. Not smirking, not giving his famous ghost smile, full on grinning. As endearing as it was, she could tell there was a less endearing reason behind his sudden need to empty three bottles of tevinter vintage, “You, um… what to tell me what’s going on?”

“You. You’re… eight months? R-right? Celebrating…” Fenris slurred, patting her shoulder clumsily. 

“Okay, okay… let’s sit back down, alright?” Hawke laughed, “Then we can talk. Merrill give us a moment?” 

Merrill nodded, “Yes of course. He seems… unraveled.” 

Hawke gripped Fenris’ shoulders and sat him down, “okay. Now. You are very drunk.”

“Yes. I am,” Fenris agreed with what sounded like a concealed giggle. An actual giggle. This was ridiculous. 

“At least you’re an honest drunk,” Hawke teased lightly, smoothing down his hair. She hummed lightly, musing over how long it was getting, “Do you want to tell me the real reason you filled yourself with wine?” 

“Perhaps… I am nervous,” He admitted, leaning against her. 

“Nervous?” Hawke asked, “Oh. I see. About Leandra?” 

He nodded, “Of course. I… I am…” he turned away for a moment, scrubbing at his eyes, “I am unsure.”

“Unsure about what? Me?” 

“No! Never you! I am completely yours. I am worried for the child.”

“Why? Try to explain it. I will listen and refrain from judgement. At least verbal judgement. My thinker makes no promises,” Hawke said, kissing his cheek. 

“I am an unsafe thing,” Fenris managed, “I am a weapon. I have entertained the idea that I would… hurt them. Or… abuse them,” He raised his hand, flexing his fingers, and lighting the vines of lyrium sewn under his skin, “It’s a possibility…”

“Bullshit,” Hawke snapped, “You would have hurt me by now if it was that easy! Don’t be such a… a… a wimp!” 

Her partner’s face went from forlorn to incredulous, “A… what?” 

“A wimp, Fenris. What? You want me to get you a get out of parenting free card?” 

“No!”

“You are weirdly the nicest person I know. So… get out of your own way? Just a bit? And then everything will be perfectly fine,” Hawke said, slapping his shoulder, “Really. I can’t believe you.” 

He considered this and sighed, “I apologize. I was being selfish.”

Hawke echoed the sigh, running her fingers through his hair, “Not selfish, just… weird.” 

“… weird has never been a word used to describe me,” Fenris let himself smile a bit. 

“Leave the colossal fuckery to me, okay?” Hawke smiled back, “I don’t need any help.” 

“… Amatus, you do yourself too little credit…” 

“Fenris. Let’s get something really damn clear, okay? If this kid is going to be fucked up, it’ll be because of both of us. But that won’t happen. Because we’re a fucking amazing team! Marian and Fenris; the unbeatable duo, right? We’ll work together. We promised each other that much. So. That easy.” 

Fenris blinked in surprise, and then chuckled, “thank you, Marian.”

“No. Thank you,” She replied, “Now… uh… can I have just one sip of that? Please?”

He hesitated a moment before handing over the bottle, “one. I’m watching you.”

She took a small gulp before handing it back, “Do you… want to talk more? About how you feel? I know you’re not mister feelings. But I’d listen.”

“I… am very happy. That my child will not be an incaensor.”

“What’s that?”

“An incaensor… A magic-using slave. It roughly translates to ‘dangerous thing,’” Fenris muttered, “Had they been born in Tevinter- I… honestly, Marian… Had I stayed in Denarius’ care, I’d have been bred like cattle. Most likely to create incaensors for profit. To know my child won’t be forced into servitude regardless of magic talent. I-“ he hiccupped, and blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, “That… wine must be hitting me.” 

“I'm damn sure that wine threw the first punch a long time ago. besides, you're… free. And she’ll be free.”

“It’s difficult to forget a lifetime of fear and obedience. Even now… I feel… watched. I saw you remove Denarius’ head with my own eyes. Saw it… roll on the floor with that sneer plastered on its lips. But even still. I feel watched and hunted. I don’t want this child to feel that way. But what if they do? Because of who I am. What I am?” 

“Stop it… stop it. You’re gunna make me cry and I am so sick of crying,” Hawke said shoving his shoulder, “I meant it. Please stop. You’re not… being watched. You’re not being hunted. You’re… not a thing.”

“If I am not, it is because you made me so,” He said softly, “I believed I had freed myself from Denarius. Washed myself of Tevinter. I came to Kirkwall believing I was a new man. But… it was not until you chipped away at me, and broke me, that I realized I had been broken all along. And… you helped rebuild me. I am thankful for that.” 

“Mmm… okay. Now I’ve gone from sad to sort of… turned on?” Hawke said, “You really think that much of me? It’s not just the wine talking?”

“Fasta Vass, Marian. Of course I do. Why do you constantly underestimate your role in my life? You are…” the next was a jumble of phrases in tevene, before he landed on; “my heart.” He immediately looked mortified, and turned away. 

Hawke touched his cheek, turning him back to face her, “Kiss me?” 

He looked a bit relieved. His eyes practically screamed ‘thank the maker no more talking.’ He pressed his lips to hers softly. 

“Mmm… I’m going to flip this sovereign in my pocket. Heads we invite Merrill back in and eat dinner. Or tails… I don’t invite Merrill back in and I… use my mouth for things besides talking?” 

“Or let’s just say it’s tails.”


	11. Chapter 11

It was pressure, and stabbing pain. It felt as though someone was tearing at her insides. When she said as much, through tears and gritted teeth, Merrill informed her she was not far off, and Hawke wanted to hit her. Just as she was sure she couldn’t take it any longer, it subsided. And she was left panting and winded.

“That wasn’t it?”

“N-no, Hawke. That’s just the start of it. Nothing’s happened…” Merrill said warily, fully conscious of the fact that if she said the wrong thing, she might get smacked, “And they only get more frequent…”

“What?! No way! That can’t be right!” Hawke argued, “I can’t just be woken up at the ass-crack of the morning, in soaking wet smallclothes, and be expected to sit on my ass and do nothing!”

“… Your mother did a poor job of explaining childbirth to you,” Merrill said with a frown.

“I didn’t pay attention! I thought it was gross- AAGH FASTA VASS!” She grabbed Merrill’s hand and squeezed it hard enough to hear bones creaking. 

“… You just sounded like Fenris. Hey! Hawke, don’t hold your breath like that!” Merrill scolded, “Just breathe normally!”

Hawke wanted more than anything to give her impromptu midwife a scathing earful, but she found she couldn’t speak for the pain. As this wave faded she finally looked around, “Fen… where’s Fen?”

“He went to get water. The snow outside- he’s going to set it over the fire and-“

“MAKER, I don’t care! He’s not here is the point!”

“He will be soon! I promise!” 

“So help me I will punch him in the nose,” She muttered. She allowed herself a few deep breaths and released Merrill’s hand, “S-sorry. I didn’t break anything did I?”

“N-no, I don’t believe so,” Merrill said, rubbing her newly freed digits, “It did hurt, though. You have very strong hands…”

“Can we agree that you won’t hold anything I say during this shit-fest against me?” Hawke asked, feeling the newest wave of pain approaching rapidly.

“Agreed.” 

And there was the agony again. Like fire twisting, and all her muscles tensing beyond their ability. She shut her eyes tight, and tried to cry out, but nothing happened. Only a soft sob and tears. The pain turned into panic. Her breathing caught, and she was hyperventilating, unable to control her gasping, the air felt white hot, like coals and liquid iron, and every drop of sweat, like daggers of ice cutting down her cheeks and back. She wanted to run, she wanted to move, do something, anything to escape. But she was immobilized and dizzy. Once again as soon as she was sure she was breaking, the torture ended. For now, “Fenris… F-Fen… please find him…” She managed through and embarrassing stream of tears and whimpers, “Please find him… please… I-I hate to say it, but I’m sc-scared! I’m so fucking scared…!” 

Merrill went to stand but a hand on her shoulder kept her in place, “No need. I’m back. The water is set to boil, and I put a few strips of cloth over the steam, so they stay warm and clean.”

“You’re back… thank the Maker. I w-was about to come out and find you myself,” Hawke said, trying to seem relaxed and in control.

“Ah. Of course,” Fenris said, taking her hand, “Nothing so trivial can take you down.”

“Exactly,” She managed a few even breaths, “Nothing scares me..!” 

“Then I don’t have to tell you it only gets worse from here?”

“I will stab you. Ow… ow…. Maker, I will kick your ass from here, back to Minrathous. Why couldn’t you keep it in your pants- OW… fuck!”

“Shh. It’s fine,” Fenris reassured her, “You know it’s strange. I’ve been at a few birthings in my time. Slaves weren’t given midwives or medical care. It was just the mothers and some kitchen staff. And none of them- none- cursed quite as much as you.”

“I aim to win,” Hawke muttered, “I will curse more than all of them combined. Just you wa—AAH! AAAAH FUCK!”

“… You’re… an absolute vision…”

Hawke grabbed a fistful of his tunic, and pulled him face to face with her, “I swear to the maker, Fenris, I will rip your ears off and feed them to a pack of rabid Mabari!” 

“… oh dear… Um…” Merrill looked over at Fenris, “We might have a problem…”

“Don’t say that!” Hawke snapped, “I don’t wanna hear that- Ah… ahh maker damn it…”

“What’s the problem?” Fenris asked, seemingly calm. But Hawke knew the look on his face. Subdued fear. And it did nothing to soothe her. Her body was being controlled purely on instinct now, and every fibre of her being was telling her to push. She couldn’t concentrate on their faces, and their words were faint but she made out small bits.

“The baby is breach,” Merrill said softly. “She’s upside-down.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Not at this point… I’m not a midwife, nor am I a spirit healer…” Merrill shook her head, “We have to hope for the best. And pray. The creators sometimes perform miracles.”

Fenris saw her looking at them with terror in her eyes, and quivering lips, he moved up to be at her shoulder, “its fine. Don’t worry. Just focus on what you’re doing. And me, if you can.”

Hawke grabbed his hands tightly, and let her instincts take over again, using each muscle she could to bear down, and end this pain. She sobbed and fell back a bit, gasping for air, “I’m… I’m already so tired… I can’t…”

“Disappointing…” Fenris said sharply, taking Marian by surprise long enough for her to look up at him.

“W-wha..?”

“Disappointing. The Marian Hawke I fought beside would never lay down her weapons. No matter the pain and exhaustion. The Hawke in front of me…? She’s… disappointing.”

“Y-you’re not helping,” Merrill said, “Fenris, be nice!”

“No. Hawke has to do this on her own. I know her. She never backs down from a challenge.”

Hawke took a deep breath and nodded, “N-no… he’s right. I’m being- ah… ah… fuck… I’m being weak!” She clenched her jaw, and bore down again, pain nearly ripping her in two. She pushed and worked, through sobs, cries and tortuous hurt for nearly five hours, the whole time, her two closest companions at her side. By noontide, through the cold air, there came a cry. And it was done.

“Ha! You were right, Hawke! It is a girl!” Merrill said, breathlessly, grabbing the wash-cloths and holding the new life up for her to see, “And perfect in every way. Nothing extra or out of place!” 

Hawke nearly collapsed from relief… “H-ha.. ha ha… I told you. Sucker,” She said to Fenris, who looked like he could collapse right along with her, “You own me a drink.”

“I’ll buy you as many as you want,” Was the numb reply, “You… you did it. She’s amazing.” Merrill nudged him, passing him a pair of scissors to cut the cord. 

“I’m going to wash her off. Fenris care to help?” Merrill soaked a few rags in the warm water, and cleaned the infant from head to toe, and wrapped her in warm blankets. 

Marian was given a look over while Fenris got to hold the small thing. Hawke looked over Merrill’s shoulder at the way he cradled her. It was wonderful. He was just as gentle as she’d hoped. After the rest had passed, bleeding stopped, and Hawke’s face given the once over with a cool cloth, she was finally able to hold her daughter.

“Ha! Look! Look at her. She has green eyes. I love it. Green eyes and long eyelashes. Leandra Aveline Hawke. I bet you she’s a fighter. She’ll be a battle-mage to be feared!”

Fenris sighed, “Or a scholar. Don’t be pushy.” 

“She resembles you both! She’s a handsome girl. She’ll be stealing hearts left and right when the time comes,” Merrill added, setting some tea to steep, “Leandra Aveline. What a pretty name.”

“Yeah. We argued for a long time,” Hawke said, “But I think it fits… Too bad she didn’t get the ears.”

“Half-bloods always look human, and you know that,” Fenris chided lightly. 

And ears aside, she was perfect in every way. The little hair she had was dark, nearly black. And her skin was a soft bronze, making her stunning moss green eyes stand out like gemstones. Leandra Aveline Hawke. And in that moment both parents felt the stars would sing about her for ages.


	12. Chapter 12

“Three months rest!” Hawke said tersely, bouncing a groggy Leandra on her hip “I said I’d heal up three months, then you were taking me on raids again! Fenris, you agreed. Don’t make yourself into a liar.”

“I said that then, but this is now,” He countered, “and I won’t have Leandra looked after by a blood mage. I won’t have it.”

“You like Merrill!” Hawke groaned, “You once called her sweet!”

“He called me sweet? By the bones of the creators! I think my ears are burning pink!” Merrill giggled.

“She’s tolerable. But I won’t have my daughter influenced by the allure of blood magic!”

Hawke burst out laughing, “She’s not even half a year old! Is your head full of rocks?”

“Three months isn’t enough time for you to heal fully,” He said.

That boiled Hawke’s blood. She scowled at him, handing the dozing infant over to Merrill, “Fenris. Come here.”

He raised a brow and complied, “Why?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and lifted, hoisting him up a couple feet, “Healed enough to pick you up. Get me a dagger and my armour.” She set him down.

Merrill handed her a dagger, with a smile, “She’s been working on getting her instincts back.”

Hawke held the small blade by its tip, squinting with determination, aiming for the crudely drawn target on the large oak a dozen feet away. She lobbed it, hitting the dead centre with a thunk.

“Ha. And look at this,” She tugged up her tunic, showing her stomach, “No baby fat. Nearly back to my lovely rows of solid steel. While you’re off playing hero, and Leandra is snoozing, I’ve been getting back into my regimen. Sit ups, push ups, the whole nine yards! Come on, Fenris! Please! Don’t be that husband- keeping his beautiful wife locked away. Tragedy! Outrage!”

He sighed, taking Leandra from Merrill, “Alright. Tonight we head into Kirkwall.”

And Hawke’s mood plummeted, “K-Kirkwall?”

“Yes. Into the city… It’s time we went home. To face the problems from inside the walls.”

“I can’t do that! There’s a bounty my head the size of the Vimmark mountains!”

Fenris scoffed, “As if that stops you from doing anything.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“And you’re conceited!”

“Well…. Well! Yes! You got me there!”

Merrill sighed wistfully, “You two are such a couple. And look at you, with the new baby. It’s sweet.”

“…. We’re yelling at each other,” Hawke said.

“Yes well, you don’t mean it. You two are so in love… It’s evident from the looks in your eyes… and well, the sounds you make at night- I meant to talk to you about that…”

Hawke’s face lit up, “Aw. Hear that? We’re cute.”

“We are not cute, and this is not the end of this fight,” Fenris said flatly.

“I think it is,” She kissed his cheek, “Come on. Don’t be an ass. Be nice like you can be sometimes.”

He looked like he was forcibly trying not to smile, and Hawke laughed.

“Come on! Smile for her,” she said, nudging him and looking at Leandra.

He sighed and let himself smile, “I smile, and you are either coming to Kirkwall, or staying home. Those are the options, and me holding up my end of a bargain.”

“A smile is worth the danger,” Hawke agreed, feigning solemnity. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “and then later we can sleep together for the first time in three months, hm?”

He blushed slightly, “Yes, agreed.”

“I want to go to the Hanged Man!”

“… first you don’t want to go because you’re a wanted fugitive, and now you want to get drunk in a crowded pub? Marian, I will never understand you.”

The sound of a raven was heard over head, and Hawke and her companions turned their heads to the sky.

“That’s Varric’s bird! A letter! Finally! I’ve been writing to him with no replies for months now!” She held up her forearm and the raven landed dutifully, allowing her to untie the correspondence from its leg. She unrolled it, humming slightly. Varric’s letters were always long-winded and a wonder to read. She had missed his stories.

 

> _Hawke,_   
>  _I’m sorry I couldn’t write to you sooner. So much has been going on, and even now I honestly don’t have long to write. I have been in Haven for the last two months, working for the Inquisition- I’m sure you’ve heard rumours about the Inquisition, even up in your mountain cave, right? I’ve been palling about with the so called Herald of Andraste, who is a real peach, by the way. However, that is not why I’m finally answering you letters. Haven was destroyed last night. Burned to the ground in an attack by Corypheus. Yes, you read that right, and no, I don’t know how. He’s not dead, Hawke. I saw him in the flesh. We all barely escaped with our hides, and we’re all cowered in a ramshackle camp in the northern mountains of Fereldan. The Herald went down in the battle, the avalanche- it covered the entire city! It’s been days since we’ve seen her. She might be dead…._   
>  _Hawke, please. I hate to tear you away from your vigilante activity and new Hubby, but the Inquisition is the only thing that might keep Thedas in one piece. And the Inquisition needs you. I was talking to our friendly neighbourhood apostate, Solas, and he said there’s an empty fort just a touch to the Northwest. Skyhold. Meet us there. And I can’t stress this enough- we need you._   
>  _\- V_

 

Hawke looked over at Fenris and Leandra, attempting to hide her panic, “U-uh… I have to go,” she murmured.

“Hawke?” Fenris asked, grabbing the letter from her and squinting at it, “This is hastily written. Not like Varric at all. What’s it say? What’s going on?”

Merrill took it in her own hands, “Creators. Varric’s joined the Inquisition. Corypheus is leading an army of mages… Varric has asked Hawke to join him.”

Fenris yanked the letter back, desperately attempting to read it for himself, a look of helpless anger of his features, “Hawke, you can’t! You can’t leave. Stop and think a moment.”

“NO!” Hawke snapped, “This is my fault! I need to fix what I fucked up. The whole rebellion, this blighted civil war! This is my fault, and I am going to set it right!” She began shoving things into a rucksack and gathered all the weaponry she could locate.

“None of this is on you,” Fenris shot back, “It’s all that damn aposta-“

“We don’t talk about it!” Hawke practically hissed, “I should have known. I should have seen what he had become, and I didn’t. This is entirely on my shoulders!”

“Then I am coming with you,” Fenris said.

“You are not. You can’t. I won’t have it.”

“You won’t have it? You won’t have it?! I am not to be commanded! I do as I wish!” Fenris said, “I am NOT a slave any longer, and I won’t be ordered around like one.”

“You know I didn’t mean that. You need to be here with Leandra, and Kirkwall needs you. And… I can’t stand the idea of you in this type of danger.”

Fenris looked away, gritting his teeth, “And you think I will happily sit by and watch you do the same?”

Hawke sighed, “… Fenris, listen to me. You can’t talk me out of this one,” She set down her bags, and put her hands on his cheeks. His jaw was clenched, and she could feel him shaking. His eyes were swimming with the beginnings of tears, and it occurred to her she had never seen him cry. He had always been stronger than that, “How long have we known each other?”

“Nearly ten years…” He managed, the scowl still carved into his features.

“And we’ve been lovers for how long?”

“Almost three.”

“And married how long?”

“Coming up on two years. Why are you asking me these inane questions?!”

“Then you know me. And you know you can’t talk me out of something I’ve decided to do,” She ran her thumb softly over his cheek, even now trying to memorize his features, in case. In case she never came home, “… tell me you love me.”

He audibly held back a fit of rage, “I do. You know I do.”

“Tell me, then.”

“I love you, Marian.”

She smiled sadly, and grabbed Leandra’s tiny hands in her own. Her child. Not something she believed she’d experience. The love she felt for this small being was incalculable. It was vast and endless. She kissed the infant’s nose softly, and then the palms of her hands, trying to pour all of her boundless affection into these simple acts, so her daughter would remember, “Tell her… Please. You haven’t said it! Tell her you love her.”

“… I can’t imagine our lives without her. I love her more than I can say.”

Hawke steadied a quivering lip, and took a calming breath, “Now I need to pack.” She shoved a few last provisions into her rucksack, and set it on her back, “Merrill..?”

Merrill jolted, looking frightened, “Y-yes, Hawke?”

“Teach the fool to read, would you? I-I’d like to write to him.”

Merrill nodded, “of course.”

Hawke took one last moment to kiss her love. She closed her eyes, and let the tender contact last as long as she could make it, “I-I’ll be back by the end of the season. Promise. We’ll be helping Leandra say her first words before you know it.”

And there was a tear on his cheek. His face was stone, and his posture stiff, but one single tear rolled down his chin, “Of course. Don’t be late” He nodded.

And she turned her back, praying that her back wasn’t the last they would see of her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last real chapter! By the way, all of this is my backstory going into Inquisition. So when I play Here Lies the Abyss, this is going through my head, and making me sad.

> _Fenris,_   
>  _I’m so sorry. I know there is nothing I could do to make this blow any softer. Believe me I hurt as much as you do at this news, and I get no happiness sending you this by letter. Hawke is dead. She died protecting us all. You would have been proud, and she would not want us being so upset… you know Hawke; She would have laughed and bought us drinks. “Life is short,” she’d say._   
>  _The Inquisitor sends her apologies, but that’s not enough, is it? We’ve lost someone too important for words and apologies. We will never be the same. I’m sorrier than I can write. She wanted you to know she loved you. She told me that. Those were her last words for you. And she said them smiling._   
>  _\- Varric_

And Fenris wished he had never learned to read.


	14. Epilogue

Sleeping did not come easy for him. It never had, as long as he could remember. But now more than ever before, his eyes refused to close, and his mind refused to be still. Fenris feared night terrors like children fear the dark- knowing it was always going to arrive, and it will never entirely leave him. For months he stayed awake, often for a week at a time, busying himself with whatever he could. Cleaning the mansion he had returned to- he had scrubbed the grout in the fire-place by hand; polishing his armour and weapons- his fingers and palms were rubbed raw by the sand barrels he used to clean his breast-plate; Of course, he also tended to his ten month old daughter. She was always clinging to him, while he busied himself with other tasks. She had recently discovered her fists and was constantly yanking at his hair and clothing, and in particular, she was obsessed with his ears. 

This little light of a being was all that was holding him together. He took very few messages, read even fewer of them. He rarely spoke, even to his close friends. He was alone with Leandra. And when she fell asleep each night, he was alone entirely. He would do anything he could to avoid finding his bed. The normally comfortable looking downy blankets, and soft pillows, seemed as hostile to Fenris as a battlefield. Now that he would always be alone there, he loathed it more than anything. However, even an elven warrior can only stay awake for so long, and he had to admit defeat and climb into his nightmares against his will. Sometimes he was fortunate and there was nothing. Nothing but emptiness. But not often. Most days he would see flashes of things he’d rather forget, or worse things he had not actually seen. The death of his lover in the Fade. That was what he feared the most. He felt as though he was going mad, as if his mind had finally crumbled under all of the weight. Finally one night he was brought images he was not used to. 

His eyes opened on a crowded Kirkwall street. But these were not the streets of the present. There were no cracks in the walls, no damaged buildings, and no faint scorch marks to hint at tragedy only recently passed. The denizens of High Town bustled about their business, but something was not as it should have been. Their faces were blurred and entirely unperceivable, as if they had been drawn in ink on parchment and smudged with the heel of someone’s hand. He reached behind his back for his weapon, finding only empty air. His stomach cartwheeled. Now what could he do? These must be demons, and he was left defenceless. Before he could transition from fear to anger, there was a hand on his shoulder.  
He turned around, and he felt like he had been knocked breathless. 

“I brought you hot tea… It’s chilly here,” Marian Hawke said, giving him a serene smile. She slid the mug into his had slowly. It didn’t feel warm, but when he numbly took a sip, he felt warmed from the inside out. The dull colours of the surrounding city burst into bright hues and sharp contrasts, and Marian Hawke was beautiful. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head.

“You’re always questioning the Fade, Fenris,” She chided, “Can’t you just let us have one last conversation without being a stick in the mud?”

It was her. That tiny smirk, the shining blue eyes. The sound of her voice seemed to him like a thousand melodies. He dropped the mug and threw his arms around her, speechless. She was solid, but he could not feel her in his arms, though the sweet smell of her hair filled the air, and the flutter of her breath in his ears was proof enough. 

“… Marian… what is going on?” He finally whispered.

“This is one of your memories. I wasn’t about to leave you alone without trying to say goodbye. Walk with me a while?” 

He nodded blankly, and let her take his hand, leading him through the faceless crowds of Kirkwall. 

“Are you really Hawke, or are you a demon here to tempt me?”

“Hm… not sure,” Hawke said with a shrug, “It’s not even clear to me. I know I died. I remember it all. I remember you, and our life, and everything else. I could be a spirit taking this form, and sharing my memories. I could be a demon. All I know is that I needed to speak to you. I opened my eyes and that was the only thing I knew.”

“You are a demon then,” Fenris said guardedly, withdrawing his hand. This was the most painful thing to see; his Hawke reduced to memories held by some malevolent spirit. 

“Fenris… listen to me,” Hawke said, “I know I don’t have long to chat, so pretend to trust me for five minutes. I want you to know I made the choice to stay here, in the Fade. I know you think I was selfish, but in my last moments I thought of you… and Leandra. If I didn’t sacrifice myself, the world you’d be in wouldn’t be one I wanted for you. And… I had to atone for Anders’ crimes… someone had to.”

He narrowed his eyes, but moved in a bit closer, “you know he atoned. You killed him yourself. Do you remember that?”

“Of course. I remember it… and it’s not something I’d like to chat about… please, let’s just talk about us, okay?” 

Fenris nodded, keeping his eyes sharp, “Yes… of course.”

“I just wanted you to know about the reason I died. And I love you. I wanted to tell you that I love you. And Leandra. Tell her whenever you can.”

“… How did you get me here? Why should I listen to you?”

The spirit shrugged again, “Maybe our love was so pure it brought us together,” there was that perfect sarcastic Marian smirk, the corner of her lips curved up and mischief in her eyes. He was pulled back in to mindless belief that this was his Hawke. It was her. And they were together. He felt himself being tempted to stay here. He felt hollow and winded, as if he was losing pieces of himself each time his guard was diminished. It frightened him to no end, but there was that beautiful face, and calm would take him.

“Pure? I doubt that,” He let himself mirror the expression, and Hawke grinned.

“Fenris… Just promise me you’ll tell her about me,” She said, placing a hand on his cheek, just as she had the last time they had been together in the waking world. 

“Of course,” He nodded, “I-“ he glanced around at the busy streets. Now the high-towners were all but smudges in the air; blurred images rather than solid figures. Turning his attention back to Hawke, he saw her eyes had begun to blur as well, “N-no… wait. What’s happening now?” 

“Dunno,” Hawke said, “I think I’m going. Fenris. I don’t care if you trust me. I don’t care if you think I’m some demon or whatever. I just want you to know… I’ve seen your nightmares. I’ve seen them keeping you awake, and killing you. It’s okay, Fenris. It’s okay… You don’t have to keep dwelling on it. And it won’t always hurt like this. You’ve gone through so much. I don’t want to be the final straw that breaks you.”

He grabbed her shoulders, as if squeezing her tightly would keep her from fading away, “Stop this! You can’t say goodbye! I won’t allow it! Not yet!”

“I have to,” She said, with a smile, “Take good care of Leandra. She’s crying, and you’re waking up. This is goodbye. It has to be.”

He felt himself yell and lunge forward, only to be thrown into total darkness. As his breathing settled, the darkness adjusted itself. He was sitting upright in bed, in the mansion, Leandra wailing from the cradle in the corner. Though he felt compelled to cry himself, something had lifted from him. For the first time in months, his limbs felt light, and his shoulders free from tension. He stood and picked up the sobbing infant, and tucked her close to him.

“It’s alright,” He said, “We’re alright.”


End file.
